


Matthew 22:39

by lferion



Category: RPF - American Idol S8
Genre: Gen, Introspection, Yuletide, Yuletide 2009, tourfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-21
Updated: 2009-12-21
Packaged: 2017-10-04 20:03:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lferion/pseuds/lferion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The prospect of ten weeks with eleven guys on a tourbus is cause for introspection.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Matthew 22:39

**Author's Note:**

  * For [clionaeilis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/clionaeilis/gifts).



> My sincere thanks to A------ for cheerleading &amp; encouragement, and Heather for excellent last-minute beta duties. The denizens of #yuletide are a wonderful thing indeed.
> 
> In her Dear Yuletider letter, Clionaeilis mentioned the idea of Adam's impact on others, along with the image of Michael writing a diary. This is the result. I hope it pleases.

The first few days of the tour were all a whirlwind, what with rehearsals and interviews, last-minute wardrobe changes and all the little details that went into putting a major arena tour on the road. Even the general insanity of the show itself hadn't been this crazy, though Hollywood Week had come close. Kris and Adam hadn't even gotten the couple of days grace in Portland before the first show most of the Top 10 had, flying up days later, arriving with hardly time to see the hotel, practically going from airport to venue without stopping. Michael knew they were working on their albums, had obligations as the winner and runner-up that the rest of them didn't. Allison had an album to work on too, and school-work as well. But she also had her mom or her sister with her, and at seventeen hadn't really realized that there were only so many hours in a day, and so much energy available to spend. So Portland, Tacoma, even Vancouver passed by in a blur, the stage and the show and the moments actually singing brilliant and memorable. He didn't think meeting the fans and hearing the crowd would ever get old. But the green-room hours, the time in transit, most of that was just a jumble in his mind. Adam assured them all that it would settle down, they'd find a rhythm to it, and have time to read the books and do the puzzles &amp; things that — "No, really, you're going to want stuff to do on the bus, and during setup" — it had been suggested they bring.

They had a day off between Vancouver and Sacramento, and Michael was glad of it. (They - everyone but Kris and Adam - had had a day between Portland and Tacoma, too, but that hardly counted, there was still so much that needed finalizing, adjusting. No matter how much rehearsal, there were always things that came up once the show was on stage and the audience live. They hadn't had a show that night but the day wasn't exactly 'off'.) This was an actual day off, and Michael realized he had some thinking to do. Thinking that, really, he should have done before. Thinking he shouldn't have let Danny sidetrack. Eleven guys on a bus didn't leave much room for thought, but that was no excuse either. Eleven guys on a bus for ten weeks with any kind of misunderstanding among them didn't bear thinking of.

Michael had never expected to make Top 12, much less Top 10 and the Tour (hoping, praying even, but not expecting, not the way Danny seemed to have been, though by now Michael knew that Danny's appearance of confidence and assurance was more appearance than actual fact), and the three amazing weeks he'd spent in that unbelievable mansion had been like something out of a story. He'd really not known what to make of several of his fellow-contestants, and frankly, he hadn't tried too hard to understand, especially Adam. Danny, Kris, Lil, they all fit with what he understood of the world, though Kris had ended up surprising him a whole lot; Matt, Scott and Anoop had been a little less familiar, but not really a challenge to understand. Megan and Allison, they were a challenge, but that was partly because they were girls, and he didn't pretend to understand what all was going on in either of their heads, Megan coming at things from her own quirky point of view, and Allison still young. Adam, though. Adam had been entirely out of his understanding. Adam didn't fit anything Michael thought he knew about homosexuals or musical-theater people or the folks who lived in what the news called Hollywood, or the entertainment district, and old Pastor Cunningham called the land of sin and the Devil. Michael didn't agree with a lot of what Pastor Cunningham said — he was much happier with the Marshalls, and their emphasis on Jesus' message of hope and healing — but he'd not given much thought to what he'd been taught as a boy about perversion and damnation and all that. Adam wasn't sad or deceitful or desperate for sex. He was flamboyant and alien and a magnet for attention, not to mention that he sang like nothing Michael had ever heard before, and this was, after all, a singing competition.

But they weren't in competition any more. (They'd hardly been competitive when they were in competition, when even Danny had been able to see that what with the cameras in the mansion and the different personalities of the singers, someone on the production side was hoping for fireworks. What with Kris helping all of them with their songs that first week — Jorge really should have listened to him — and everyone really wanting to focus on the music, that hadn't happened. Thank whoever you wished; Michael thanked the Lord it had turned out that way.) There was no results night to worry over, no elimination to fear. This was Tour, and they were all in it together. Eleven guys on a bus for ten weeks. And you didn't forget the girls, either.

Michael sat in his really nice hotel room in what was probably Sacramento's nicest hotel, and settled down to really think.

Adam was a person, first and foremost. A person who had never had anything but good to say about any of his fellow Idols, even when the press had really pushed. (Michael had seen that bit where the interviewer had tried hard to trap Adam into saying something less than polite about Tatiana, and Michael had been really impressed at how well he'd managed to avoid it. Michael himself mostly clammed up in confusion when pushed like that, his grandmother's sharp voice in his head saying "If you can't say anything nice….") There were times when he envied how easy interviews and soundbites and dealing with the cameras and photographers and all seemed to be for Adam; wished he, Michael, were as articulate and well spoken. He'd found, though, that just thinking about what Adam had said about not trying to be someone for the cameras, but just being, being oneself, did make it easier to smile for the camera and answer the questions (the same questions, over and over, most of the time, but that was alright too.) And Adam was always _himself_, too. Different aspects of himself at different times — that _"Ring of Fire"_ had certainly been an eye-opener, but so had _"Tracks of My Tears"_ the next week. Not to mention _"A Change is Gonna Come."_

A person who listened to Danny talk about salvation and scripture and the Will of God, (and 'Godly love') with sympathy and a polite and neatly phrased agreement to disagree. Adam apparently believed some things that Michael might still have some trouble with, but really, that was none of Michael's business: Adam's soul was very much his own, and Michael only hoped that his might shine as bright.

A person Kris Allen, one of the most quietly sincere and genuine followers of Christ that Michael had ever met, knew better than any of the rest of them and proudly claimed as a friend. Michael had watched them sing together, seen them tease and wrestle, laugh, hug, sit in easy silence, fall asleep on each other's shoulders in comfortable trust. There was a lesson there.

A person who had taken that (in hindsight) hurtful and ignorant thing that Michael had said to him early in their acquaintance with no more than a tiny lift of his chin and a (then) unreadable flash in his painted eyes. (And thinking about that, Michael realized he kind of missed the eyeliner when Adam went clean-faced to rehearsal or sound-check, as if the makeup was more expressly 'Adam' in a way.) A person who could and had been hurt by the careless things Michael and Danny had said. That other people had said before. He shrugged it off, 'put up his force-shield' (and that was another useful image, Michael thought, to let the positive, the informative, the good come through, the negative bounce off) but that didn't mean he didn't feel it, or that he should have to.

The world that Michael had grown up in was neither kind to nor accepting of Adam's kind of difference, but that didn't make it right. There were folks who thought that Michael's songs were rubbish, and his giving up roughnecking for singing was a stupid, sissy thing to do. But the songs demanded to be written, and they wanted to be shared. Working the oil-rigs had been a job, but singing was a calling. Nothing had ever felt as right as singing on stage to that audience, live and on the other side of the cameras; even being with Tiffany, with Grayson and Mckenna was a different kind of right - not more or less, but different. Perhaps he and Adam had more in common than he had thought. And it really didn't make it right that Michael had let his own ignorance cause pain.

Michael sighed and stretched and scrubbed his hands through his hair; not much there for the stylists to work with, but Tiffany liked what they had done. Adam's hair was always an adventure, and the way he dressed was always worth a look, because he so obviously enjoyed his clothes. Just being around him had made Michael more aware and more appreciative of what he wore — and Tiffany had noticed that too. What else might he learn, how else might he grow if he let Adam more freely into his heart, as the scripture said. "Love thy neighbor as thyself." In a way, Adam was quite literally his neighbor: his bunk on the bus was right above Michael's. The way out of ignorance was to be willing to learn, and the thing to do about having caused hurt was to apologize. Michael could do that. He was pretty sure that Adam would be willing to listen, to go forward in better fellowship.

Michael stood and walked over to the window. It was a beautiful day outside, the high blue California sky dotted with white puffs of cloud, the distant hills glowing gold from the high vantage of the hotel. He hoped that Adam and Kris might have a few hours to enjoy the sunlight themselves. He pulled out his phone, hesitating only a moment between Twitter and the text-message buttons. He'd already had one Twitter-fail recently, no need to invite another. Texting was much safer. He typed carefully,not sure if what he was feeling was anticipation, apprehension, determination or quite what.

:: Adam, got a minute sometime today? Id like to talk. Michael ::

He took a breath and hit 'send' with a deliberate tap. It was only a minute or so later when his phone buzzed with an incoming message.

:: Sure. Whassup? They say free @ 2. Call u then. :) ::

Michael discovered he felt oddly free, light and unexpectedly happy. He would take a walk, he decided, and enjoy the sunlight. The whole world seemed a little brighter.


End file.
